our universe

- D U M P S T E R F I R E -

Rory would hide under her daisy printed covers, shining a flashlight to her book page, desperately attempting to drown out the echoed screaming matches. Pressing her ear to doors, trying to make out hushed conversations, wondering if it was somehow her fault.

School was an escape. Rory threw herself into it, and that was how it all started. When she'd brought home top marks on her exams that first year, her parents had been so proud. So proud of her that they were distracted from their issues. They took her shopping in Diagon Alley, let her pick anything she wanted as a present. They got Fortescue's ice cream on the way home, and even though Rory was twelve and too old for it, she'd held both her parents hands as they walked down the street. Her sticky fingers firmly secured in theirs. For the first time in a long time, Rory felt like they were a family again.

From then on, Rory's only focus was doing well in classes. It was something she was good at. Really good. And it felt amazing to succeed, to excel. She enrolled in every honors course, did every extra credit assignment, whatever it took so that her parents were happy. Weren't fighting. It worked for a little while. Soon, however, even her prowess in academics wasn't enough to take away from the problems rooted deep within Oliver and Amy's marriage.

Rory worked even harder, pressure beginning to take its toll. Maybe she could fix it. Was it her fault? What if it was her fault? She wasn't what either of her parents had wanted. It was her fault. She couldn't fail. Rory couldn't fail. Rory Wood didn't fail.

He still loved her mum more than anything, Rory could tell. That was why he was so drunk and angry. He never thought Amy would leave him too. He was hurt. Rory knew how he felt. She was hurt too. He was still her father. He raised her. And there were moments, rare as they were where she saw him again. Brief glimpses of her dad.

The trouble was, Rory never knew which Oliver she was getting. Would it be the mellow, happy drunk, who sang old Weird Sisters songs and baked, acted like he was interested in her day? Or would it be the teary eyed, sentimental Oliver, who looked at old photo albums and school mementos? One moment he was apologizing profusely, begging for her forgiveness, and vowing to do better. The next he was telling her how much he loved her, how proud of her he was, that she was his favorite daughter.

I'm your only daughter, Dad.

And you were so perfect we had no need for anymore

Then he was screaming at her, hurling insults and sharp objects, calling her foul things. You were my second chance and you failed! I gave up everything because of you! A vengeful, selfish bitch just like your mother! Or more recently...he was slapping her.

Rory couldn't tell anymore what was the real him and what was the alcohol talking. He was hardly sober so what did it matter anyways? Maybe it was all alcohol and maybe it wasn't. At this point, Rory would take what she could get.

She heard another crash downstairs. The sound of glass breaking. Her father's subsequent curse. Well that was just perfect. Rory set her wand down, and hurried down the stairs, steeling herself for whatever carnage she was about to witness.

"Oh— Dad!" Rory's head hung low as she came upon the scene, jumping into action. There was a shattered bottle of mead on the living room floor, shimmering amber liquid seeping into the rug. A vase had been knocked askew in the kitchen, and the permeating stench of her father was tracing through every room like a whisper. Oliver was swaying side to side, eyes bloodshot, incoherent. He bent down to clean up his mess, and nearly toppled face first into the pile of glass. "No— Dad— just— let me."

"I—"

"Dad just go— I don't know, lay down or something. You—"

"You never let me do anything by myself, Amy! I am capable of—"